


Golden

by asynje



Series: Even the Night [5]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical, M/M, Master/Slave, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asynje/pseuds/asynje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Viking-verse. Warnings apply to the series as a whole.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> Viking-verse. Warnings apply to the series as a whole.

I stand for a moment in the doorway letting my eyes adjust to the dimness inside.  
My little Saxon hasn't heard me come. He is hunched over by the fireside, working on something, and I let my eyes travel slowly down the slope of his shoulder, his back, his ass.

When Ulf told me of him I decided I wanted him. A pretty thing to look at. To touch. To own.  
But he has become dear to me now.  
Like my horse.   
Like my sword.   
I own him and yet at times it feels as if he has power over me.

I am no fool. I know the power of lust and greed. But the gentle waters are strong as well, currents deep below, and when he sleeps next to me at night, I feel the unseen waves tugging at my heart.

It is dangerous but I fear no danger.

Now he looks up and I smile at him and stretch out my hand. I came across some boys on the way and I got them to part with the honeycomb they were bringing home in triumph. Now it lays in my palm, golden honey running slowly down my wrist.

His eyes widen.

My little Saxon is very fond of sweet things and it pleases me to bring him treats like this.  
He's gotten to his feet and is thanking me and then – then my little Saxon bends his head and laps at my sticky fingers. He throws a glance at me to see if I am pleased with this and I smile and call him beautiful.  
He looks at me the way happy men look at their wives, the way young women look at the men they desire.   
The way the Earth looks to Sun.

I take hold of his head with my free hand and bring him up for a kiss. His mouth is sweet and warm and eager and not even the cleft of the Goddess of Love herself could taste sweeter than this. Like Freyja's amber tears runs the honey down my skin but I care not for my _hors_ is moving against me, gliding like a warm wave, salt-slick like the Sea, and I loose myself in his scent and his taste, smearing him with honey, licking his skin.

We end up on the floor, I on top of him.

He feared me at first, but now there is nothing but trust in his eyes when he looks to me.   
It warms my heart.   
Some say that the feelings of a _træl _are of no importance but I believe that it is well to rule with kindness. Less chance of waking up with a blade buried deep in you that way. And surely no man would do what my little Saxon is doing now to another man out of fear. He can be quite shameless, beset by _ergi_, writhing beneath me. Shivering.

I too know the power that can grab hold of you and shake you like a mighty hand, leave you trembling and spent, but I have never felt it due to another man.   
I find it in poetry and song.   
In fight.   
We call those like my little Saxon lesser Men but I sometimes wonder if there is much difference.

I see in his eyes now the joy I know.

And I am the one to bring it to him.

This is enough to make a Man feel god-like.

I smear honey on his lips, his face, his chest and bend my head as I feast on him. And then I move down stroking him through the fabric of his trousers with my mouth. He stills and I free him with my hands and kiss him. He is beautiful there as well and just as tearful. And I put my mouth on him and hold him down until he moans and spends himself on my tongue. And I feed that to him too.   
My little Saxon has not the power of words but his hands sing of gratitude and that deep hidden current that drive Men to madness and poetry. And as I ride him I sing the words his hands say to me.   
But I sing them in the secret tongue.   
It is not yet time.

**Author's Note:**

> Original notes:   
> Pairing: VM/SB  
> Rating: 15  
> Disclaimer: Fictional. Not to be taken at face value. All in good fun.  
> Note: Viking-verse  
> Warnings: honey  
> Approved by [](http://lannamichaels.livejournal.com/profile)[**lannamichaels**](http://lannamichaels.livejournal.com/)


End file.
